Griff: The Lost Child
by VertigoVision
Summary: After Season 2 of Chicago Fire, Darden's family was never heard from again. But what actually happened to Griffin, the oldest of the Darden children? This picks back up a few years after we last heard from the Darden family, and it is soon evident that a lot has happened since we last saw Griffin Darden.
1. An Introduction

Lieutenant Matthew Casey walked into Firehouse 51 on the brisk, October morning with two Java Chip Frappuccinos in hand, as a result of a lost bet against his wife, Gabriela Dawson, and Sylvie Brett last night at Molly's. The Chicago Cubs had lost their first three games of the season, how was he supposed to know that they would finally get their heads out of their asses long enough to get a win? He was pretty sure Dawson didn't even like Frappuccinos, but she remembered all the times he made fun of the guys who "got suckered into buying 5-dollar coffee drinks that weren't so much coffee as they were sugar" for their girlfriends and knew this would be the one thing that got under his skin. And the look on his face as he walked into the firehouse told her that she was right.

"Finally, I'm about to fall asleep if I don't drink some caffeine soon," Brett exclaimed while taking one of the Frappuccinos out of Casey's hand and taking a sip. "I hope the barista didn't give you too much trouble when you inevitably had problems ordering." The smug look on Brett's face was evident and it was obvious that Casey did not appreciate it. Normally she didn't tease Casey this much, but Dawson was giving her an added bit of confidence today. That, and she was remembering how cocky Casey was last night about how the girls were each going to have to buy him a beer after their next shift. It was all good-natured fun, but Brett had a competitive streak that many of her coworkers didn't know about and she hated to lose. She felt it was only fair that she gave back to Casey all of the sass he gave her last night.

Dawson and Brett both started giggling as Casey defended himself, slightly raising his voice as he did so. "It's not my fault they don't understand English there. Why can't they just have smalls and larges like a normal coffee shop. No, it's venti this and trenti that. How can they expect anyone to order with gibberish like that?" The truth was, he wasn't really that flustered, but was playing it up for the added effect. He was hoping that Dawson would take some pity on him, and make the whole ordeal worth his time. And as always, Dawson wasn't one to disappoint.

"Well first of all its trenta," Dawson started, as Casey rolled his eyes. "And second of all…" she began as she leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, "thanks Matt". Casey enjoyed his few seconds of attention from his wife and was just about to respond, when Kelly Severide walked in to see what the commotion was.

"Do I get a kiss too?" Playfully asked Severide, with a smirk on his face. As much as he loved Casey and Dawson, making fun of their relationship was the best part of them being in a relationship. Well, their happiness was important too, but he figured that they had each other and should deal with his sense of humor.

"Only in your dreams," replied Dawson, as she left with Brett to go enjoy their frappuccinos. If she was being honest, she much preferred a regular coffee, but Casey's obvious annoyance with the drink was well worth it. Brett seemed to enjoy hers, and made note to thank Casey later and let him know that his suffering in purchasing the drink was well worth it in her eyes, completely oblivious to the fact that Casey was only playing at being dismayed.

With the girls off of the main floor, Severide playfully punched Casey in the arm. "You going soft on me? Buying Starbucks for the women of Chicago, forgetting about your friends. That, my friend, is why I am single. I'd rather be dead than buying some sugar-filled, poor excuse for a coffee drink." He began to lean sideways against the side of Truck 81, which unbeknownst to him signified to his coworkers that he was in a good mood today.

"Of course, Kelly, Starbucks is the reason why you are single," Casey teased. "Has nothing to do with the fact that you get bored quickly, think about work more often than is natural, and only want to"

"Okay, okay Matt I'm done," Severide chuckled. "If you leave my love life alone I'll consider not making fun of yours," he offered.

"Well how considerate. If only women could see this charitable side of yours. I'm sure they would just flock right to you," Casey joked as he left to go to the kitchen, leaving Severide on the main floor of the garage.

Severide chuckled under his breath and went to join his friends. He had a feeling that this was going to be a good shift.

888

Griff was going to be late to school again. Whatever, it's not like he cared anyways. He glanced at the clock and it was 7:45. If he hurried, he would be able to get into the school before the doors locked at 8 and wouldn't have to deal with the attendance secretary, who was overly interested in his life and used any excuse to try to talk to him. It wasn't his fault that he was always late, it just happened, and talking to that woman was punishment enough for the habitual tardiness. Griff was tall and skinny, with messy brown hair that glistened when the sun hit it. He had the same blue eyes as his father, and if he closed his eyes he could still hear his mom say how he would be "quite the ladies' man" one day. Griff wasn't so sure about that but he had more pressing matters than his classmates finding him attractive.

He looked over at Luke, passed out drunk on the couch, as he grabbed his backpack and left the house, careful not to let the door slam. The house wasn't anything special. Located on the edge of the near west side neighborhood of Chicago, it wasn't the best neighborhood but it wasn't the worst either. There was a small wooden porch area leading up to the front door, a few of the boards were loose or rotted, but otherwise it was still relatively intact. Well, relative to this neighborhood anyways. Most of the house was painted a rich chestnut-brown color and had an off-white trim, allowing it to blend in well with the other houses. A small bay window in the kitchen allowed light to enter the house, but the view was nothing special as you could only see the street in front of you. However, the rest of the windows just stared at the neighbors' houses, located 10 feet away, so this view was one of the better ones in this part of town.

Griff had been living with Luke for almost a year now, the longest he had stayed in one place since his dad died a few years ago. Luke had the bedroom on the first floor, although why he needed such a big room when he ended up passing out on the couch nearly every night was beyond him. Griff got the attic bedroom, which he loved only because his windows allowed him roof access, where he frequently would lay and look up at the stars, imagining what his life could have been like. Luke didn't know he did this, of course, and would be livid if he ever found out. But Griff was safe, and had not been caught in the 10 months they had lived together.

Griff made good time on his walk to school; it only took him 10 minutes for the usual 15-minute walk. Granted that included jaywalking a lot more than usual and cutting through a couple of back allies, but he was just happy that Mrs. Snellnic, the attendance secretary, could pick on someone else this Monday morning. She was always asking too many questions about how living with Luke and his on again off again girlfriend was going, and he wished she would just realize that he didn't want to talk to her. Most people had backed off after he finished his first semester at the school last June, but she just couldn't take a hint. It didn't really help that his file was twice as big as everyone else's, but that's what happens when you transfer schools every couple of months.

It was only a month into his sophomore year of high school and already he wanted to be done with school. It's not like he was terrible at it or anything, quite the contrary. He could pull straight A's in most of his classes without trying, which was lucky for him because he didn't try. Always had been academically gifted, and he could be taking much harder classes, but because he moved around so much and didn't try, no teachers noticed how brilliant he actually was. Assuming that he did his homework at home, and not during the next class period when he was bored, and that he actually studied for tests, which was a complete lie, they treated him as they would any other slightly above average student who was pulling As and Bs with the occasional C. They never wondered why they never met his guardian, why he always kept to himself, or pulled back whenever an adult got too close. Griff never minded that no staff member gave him much attention, well besides Mrs. Snellnic of course. He preferred to remain as invisible as he could and didn't really care what happened during the school day, as long as nobody called him by his full first name. He really hated when people called him Griffin.

It wasn't that he didn't like the name, he just didn't want it ruined. He could take all the taunting and teasing about it being a magical creature and how he was too skinny to be compared to a magnificent beast like a griffin. That had been a problem since he was younger, so he learned how to deal with it a long time ago. He hadn't been called Griffin since his family separated, and liked to think of that time as a separate part of his life, when he was a different person. A lot had happened in the years since his dad died, and he liked to believe that Griffin was still out there, maybe in a different universe or something, still with his dad like nothing had ever happened. So, when he was called Griffin, it reminded him that his dad had died and nothing he could do would ever change that.

Realizing that he was slipping too far into his head, he quickly relieved himself of his schoolbag and grabbed the bare minimum required to get himself through the first two classes of the day. He remembered to grab his drawing notebook before slamming his locker, and he headed over to his English classroom on the second floor. As the hallways were crowded, he inevitably bumped shoulders with others, but unlike many of his classmates he never turned around to offer any apologies. Griff never saw a reason to apologize for the sake of apologizing, and so he kept moving without a second thought. He carefully ducked in doorways whenever he saw someone he rather would avoid, but still made it to his classroom with a minute to spare.

He sat in his seat in the back corner of the room, one he had chosen strictly because it was near the exit and as far away from people as he possibly could be, and brought out his notebook and a pencil so he could begin his daily drawing ritual. It was the only thing that allowed him to make it through the school day without getting lost in the wrong parts of his brain. He sketched the same things every day: remnants of memories before his dad died. His mom and dad at breakfast, his younger brother playing with his fire truck, work picnics, his parents' friends, and the fire station where his dad used to work. He let his mind drift away as he drew, his drawing the only thing he could take solace in.


	2. Just a Lonely Monday Afternoon

_A/N: After a lot of debating with myself, Gabby has been updated from girlfriend to wife status back in Chapter 1. This doesn't make any difference in the story now, but I felt that it helped with some of the future plans I have for the story._

"Okay, class, now this question is a bit harder than I would test you on, but it is the kind of question that could show up when you take the SAT next year, so it's good to be prepared," announced Mr. Kalzmati, the 10th grade English teacher. The man stood at a few inches below 6 foot, with the sides of his hair buzzed short but the top at a slightly longer than average length. Just beginning his early-thirties, he liked to consider himself as still being able to understand the students that he taught, but as the years went by he felt himself becoming more and more separated from them, which he reckoned was only natural. He still commanded the classroom in a way that led the students to respect him, and generally pay attention. There were exceptions, of course, but he was a well-liked teacher by most.

Clicking his PowerPoint, the question was displayed onto the projector screen. "Okay, so I'll give you all a couple of minutes to think about the answer to this question. On the SAT, you will have a few multiple-choice options to choose from, but I want you to be able to have an idea of the answer before reading your choices. So here, you want to read the sentence, and I encourage you to underline the parts of the sentence that you know how to identify: nouns, verbs, participles, all the fun stuff." A few students let out an obligatory chuckle at his description of English as being fun, but Mr. Kalzmati took it as an encouragement. "'Materializing from the mist, the alarm warned the ship to steer quickly to the right of the rocks.' is the sentence you'll be looking at. What I want to know is why this sentence is grammatically incorrect. Feel free to work with each other."

The students quickly scrambled to find a partner to work with. The girl sitting next to Griff looked at him, and quickly decided that she could be in a one group of three since Griff made no noticeable signs that he was looking for a partner. On the contrary, he didn't even look up from his drawing, and made no acknowledgement to the question before him. Mr. Kalzmati made a very subtle head shake, wondering why he could never reach some kids, no matter how hard he tried. He had been trying to engage Griff in the classroom since the beginning of the year, and had finally resolved that today Griff would participate whether he wanted to or not. He wouldn't know the answer, of course, and in all honesty, he didn't expect any of the kids to know the answer either. But he hoped that calling him out in front of the class would be the wake-up call that this kid desperately needed.

"Okay everyone, back to your seats. Now, let's see what you all have come up with. Did anyone come up with anything?" Asked Mr. Kalzmati, mentally preparing for the wrong answers he was inevitably going to receive. Sometimes, the hardest part of being a teacher was not laughing at the bizarre answers students could come up with. "Yes, Trisha and Adam, what did you two come up with?"

"Quickly should be placed before steer because it's describing the verb?" Answered Trisha, the bravest of the two.

"I'm sorry guys, but that is not the answer I was looking for. Although your answer is also grammatically correct, so it could go either way. Anyone else have any ideas?" Mr. Kalzmati received several more wrong answers, but resolved them in a way that allowed his students to see where their reasoning went wrong. "Griff, what answer did you come up with?" He prodded, desperate to see what was going on in his student's head.

"The participial phrase is in the wrong place," responded Griff, never looking up from his drawing. He needed all the concentration he could when sketching facial features; it was the one thing he still wasn't great at. In truth, he was better than people who had been drawing for twice as long as he had, but he was still frustrated that what he saw in his head didn't look the same on paper. He was sketching his dad's face, and working on the goofy grin that he had after making one of his famous terrible jokes. His dad always had been a jokester, rarely serious.

Mr. Kalzmati couldn't believe it. He looked down at his answer key just to be sure, but that was the answer he was looking for. "Why do you say that as your answer?" He asked, needing to be sure that it wasn't just a lucky guess.

"The participial phrase should be placed next to the noun it describes, to avoid confusion," replied Griff, now shading the lips.

"That's, uhh, correct Griff. Good job," said Mr. Kalzmati, quickly redirecting to the class to think about how they could identify these sorts of errors. As soon as the bell rang, everyone sprang out of their seats, and rushed to the front door to exit, except for Griff who carefully snuck out of the back. As soon as the students were all gone, Mr. Kalzmati sat at his desk and wondered what he had missed. He wondered what the potential of his student really was and how many had failed this child by letting his intelligence go unnoticed for this long, happy to pass him as long as he didn't cause trouble. He was pulled out of his thoughts soon, though, as students from the next class began to enter, their chatter completely un-phased by the uncharacteristically silent Mr. Kalzmati.

888

The rest of the school day went by in a blur to Griff. Besides the brief interaction he had with the lunch lady, no one else bothered to talk to him. During lunch, he was finally able to finish the drawing of his dad that he began during English class. He carefully tore the picture out of his notebook and placed it in the folder where he kept all his other completed drawings. Griff didn't have very many pictures of his family anymore, only one of them all together that he kept hidden deep in a box so it wouldn't get ruined, and so his drawings took the place of family albums. He drew like he was running out of time, because he was terrified that he would forget. He could already feel some of the memories slipping from his mind as the years progressed. He had quite the collection of drawings, though, and so he was able to use the ones he had completed to jog his memory.

Griff only had a few things left from his old life: that one family photograph, a jacket from his dad, his dad's firefighter dog tags, and a stuffed animal that his brother gave him. He used to have a necklace from his mother, but he pawned that off years ago, to allow himself to purchase more drawing supplies. Griff always wore the dog tags from his father, it helped him to feel close to his dad and brought him a sense of peace and safety. He had always loved them when he was younger, and so he got them after his father's death. One of the tags had the firefighter's prayer on it, while the other said Andrew Darden, Firefighter, Chicago Fire Department. It then had the fire department logo filling up the rest of the space. Wearing the dog tags was the easiest way that Griff could keep his father with him, for as much as he loved wearing the jacket, he could only do it during a few months a year. It was hard for Griff to believe that just a few years ago the tags never left their box, all because he was so upset whenever he saw anything relating to his dad's work that he couldn't bear to look at them. And now, they were his most prized possession.

The jacket was an old, worn, black jean jacket from the 90s. His dad used to wear it all the time when he wasn't in his work uniform and Griff swore that it still smelled like his father if you concentrated hard enough. This was the first year that Griff started to fit in to the jacket, although it was still a little big all around. The temperature was perfect in October to wear it and you would rarely see Griff without it. Grabbing his bookbag from his locker, Griff made his way out of the school, deciding to wander a bit before he headed home.

888

At 5 pm sharp, Griff arrived back at home. He had wandered down to sit near the South Branch of the Chicago River. He liked to sit and watch the water flow; the calm scene was something that aided in his drawing. It took him about 45 minutes to walk there and back, which left him only an hour to sit and relax. But it was his favorite thing to do when the weather was nice and so he visited as much as he could, knowing full well that Chicago winters could be brutal and that there wasn't going to be much time for sitting outside after the next couple of weeks. Griff didn't know what he was going to do once it became too cold for him to sit next to the water, both the ideas of going straight home and staying at school longer were equally unappealing.

He pushed the key into the lock and turned the handle, opening the door so that it was slightly ajar and then paused to listen. Confident that Luke was gone, he opened the door and allowed himself inside. He took off his shoes at the doorway and made his way upstairs to deposit his school supplies. His bedroom was small, containing only enough space for a bed, a desk, and a small dresser. When walking in, the door had just enough room to not hit the bed, but not an inch more. The bed took up all the floor space on the right side of his room, the two-drawered dresser resting a few inches away from his pillows on the back wall. The wood on the dresser was falling apart, but it had been taken from the side of the road during the middle of a Chicago winter. Considering the circumstances, the dresser was in good shape. The desk was on the wall that corresponded to the front of the house, resting just beneath the windows. Griff could use the desk as a stool to climb out of the windows when he wanted to lay on the roof and gaze at his surroundings. In the empty space between the dresser and desk stood a black floor lamp, except the bulb had burned out months ago and was therefore just there to take up space. All in all, there wasn't more than 3 square feet of open floor space, but Griff had his own room and was thankful for what he had.

Heading downstairs, Griff hoped that there still was enough bread in the house to make a sandwich. Luke wasn't the best at grocery shopping, but there was always something for Griff to eat, which made it a step up from some of the places that he had stayed. He remembered Mrs. Jackson, the woman he had lived with for a couple of months before being placed with Luke. She kept locks on all of the pantry cupboards and refrigerator to prevent Griff and any of his foster siblings from "excessively snacking" or something. It didn't help that she was terrible at cooking and her portion sizes wouldn't feed a 6-year-old let alone the then 14-year old boy. But Griff learned how to pick locks out of necessity and eventually was able to sneak breakfast bars from the cabinets. Maybe that why she returned him to foster services.

Shaking his head and chuckling at the memory of the old bat that is Mrs. Jackson, he returned to the task at hand. Although he couldn't find any sliced bread, Griff did find a bagel tucked away in the back of the pantry cupboard that looked okay and decided that would be good enough for his sandwich. Piling it with ham, Kraft American cheese, and mayo, he was fully satisfied after eating. He ran up to his room and grabbed the sliced peach cup that he saved from his school provided lunch and gobbled that down for dessert. He checked the clock, and knowing that Luke shouldn't be home for a few more hours, Griff dared to turn on the TV and sit on the same couch that Luke was passed out on this morning. He watched the 6 o'clock news, and then entertained himself by watching a rerun of last night's Chicago Bears game.

After taking a shower, he laid down in bed, intending on resting for a couple of hours. He never knew what mood Luke would be in when he got home, so it was best to get some sleep in before just in case. Luke usually got back between 11 pm and 2 am. He worked the swing shift at some manufacturing plant from 2 to 10 pm, and usually went out with some of his friends afterwards. Some nights he came home pleasantly buzzed, other nights he was a belligerent drunk. Usually when he was dating his girlfriend, Melinda, he came home happy. And since they were together they mostly entertained each other. But it was when they were on one of their "off" weeks that Griff never knew which side of Luke would walk through the door. So, it was best to be prepared. Luke usually tired himself out after a half hour or so and would pass out allowing Griff to either go back to bed or deal with whatever had happened in that half hour. Griff hoped that tonight was one of the few nights where he could sleep through the night without waking up to Luke's drunkenness. But as he drifted off to sleep, he had a feeling that that would not be the case.


	3. A Night of Fights

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, had a lot of life changes recently. Probably will do minor editing to this chapter over the next couple of days, but I wanted to put something out there bc you all have had to wait a while. I have the next chapter planned out, so hopefully it won't take as long to write. Reviews are always welcome :)_

"Ambulance 61, bar fight at 1458 W Taylor Street. Man requiring medical assistance," sounded the loud voice over the PA system at Firehouse 51. It was approximately 11 pm, an unusual time for these types of calls. Typically, bar fights happened in the early evening or late at night.

"Alright, Brett, let's head out," called Dawson, slamming the driver's side door and beginning to pull out of the garage. She flipped on the sirens and started driving in the direction of Hawkeye's Bar and Grille. They had never been called to a bar fight here before, on the contrary, sometimes before Molly's opened Dawson would have a few drinks over there with friends on her days off. It was a well-run establishment, and didn't tend to attract a rowdy crowd, so Dawson wasn't really sure who would be causing trouble at 11 pm, on a Monday night none-the-less.

"I swear these types are calls either someone bleeds out before they get there or they have a black eye and think that we can do anything to fix it besides giving them a cold pack. They're just lucky I wasn't asleep or I would be a lot less friendly," mockingly pouted Brett. The truth was that she loved her job and wouldn't trade it to the world, and was incapable of being anything but friendly to the people that she was helping.

"Yeah, well, the day that people learn to hold their alcohol is the day that we'll be out of a job," responded Dawson, as she parked on the street in front of the entrance to the bar. The cops were babysitting two men, keeping them as far away from each other as possible.

"What do we have here, officer…"

"Sanchez. Officer Sanchez. This one," started Officer Sanchez, while pointing to the approximately 30-year-old Hispanic male sitting on the curb with a nasty cut on his head and handcuffs on his wrists, "has too much alcohol in his system and started fighting with the man sitting over there. No one wants to press any charges relating to the fight, since it started outside and caused no major damage, but he has a warrant out for his arrest a couple of counties over so if you could just give him the once over and make sure that it's safe for us to transport him that'd be much appreciated."

"Sure, no problem." Brett stated, as she began to rifle through their medical bag for some tape and gauze. While Brett was searching for the supplies, Dawson took a closer look at the cut on the man's forehead.

"Looks like it's just a surface cut, so it doesn't require stitches. Sir, do you have anywhere else that you were injured?" She questioned. The man responded by shaking his head, refusing to speak to the EMT. Dawson cleaned up the cut and then bandaged it up with the gauze and tape from Brett. "He should be all set to go, Officer Sanchez. Just make sure that his gauze gets changed in a few hours, to reduce the risk of infection. He should stop bleeding in a few minutes, but if he doesn't by the time you get to the station you are going to want to have someone else look at it and make sure the blood clots properly," Dawson instructed.

"While you're here, do you want to check on the other guy and make sure that he is okay? I would hate for him to claim that we refused him treatment or something. Be careful though, he still is aggravated that we won't let him leave the scene until we finish getting statements from everyone present. Keeps muttering that he would have one if the guy here didn't use cheap shots or something. So just watch yourself, and call over if you need any backup," offered Officer Sanchez.

"Will do," responded Dawson, as she made her way over to the other gentleman. The man looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s. He had shaggy blond hair and had the look of someone who enjoyed a little too much alcohol a little too frequently. He was wearing a blue shirt with a company logo on the right shirt pocket. "Hello, sir. I'm Dawson, I'm an EMT. Is there anything you want us to look at while we're here? We can give you a look over just to make sure you don't have any injuries," Dawson offered.

"Can I go now? I'm fine. I don't want any treatment. I just want to go," snarled the man. Dawson made a look over at the officer, who nodded his head.

"Yeah, you're all free to go. Just make sure to stop by the hospital if you find that you have any injuries," instructed Dawson, as the man quickly got up from the sidewalk and made his way towards his vehicle. It was an old, beat-up two-door truck. The pain was chipping off and there were more dented spots then there was smooth metal. He put the keys in the ignition and whizzed out of the parking spot. "God, Brett, you would think that we were the ones to beat him in a fight the way that he was acting."

"Lucky for you they don't ask patients to rank our customer service because your score would have just taken a dive," teased Brett. "Anyways, let's get back to 51. I'm really craving some popcorn right now."

"Good luck with that one, officer Sanchez," Dawson called out before shutting the door to Ambulance 61. They made the customary friendly wave to each other as she pulled into the street, and Officer Sanchez began loading the suspect into the police cruiser. The rest of the night would go off without any more calls, and Dawson and Brett would go out and grab breakfast when their shift ended at 8.

888

Luke was pissed. He drove home in a mad fury after his incident at the bar. How dare that man make a fool out of him in front of all of those people. He would have won if the guy didn't make a cheap shot that hit him in the back of his head when he wasn't looking. His BAC was still below the legal limit, but the alcohol was affecting his emotional stability and the rage consumed him. Somehow, he made is safely home without engaging in any road rage, but his anger had not subsided during the 15-minute ride. He was looking for anything to take his anger out on. And lucky for him he knew just who to go to for an easy fight that he would win.

888

I woke up the second I heard the truck door slam. This did not sound good. I just laid in my bed and listened while waiting for the storm I knew was coming. It took Luke a couple of minutes to be able to get the front door unlocked, a sign that he had a lot of alcohol in his system. I could hear him bumping into things in the living room while he searched for the light switch. He then moved into the kitchen, slamming open cupboards, until I heard the sound of glass clinking together. Probably grabbing a drink of hard liquor from the bottle; he only did this when he was beyond angry at someone and needed something to numb what he was feeling, or give him more confidence for what was coming next. I glanced at the clock, it wasn't even midnight yet. Something must have happened tonight if he was back this early. And I felt like it wasn't going to play well for me.

I'm always waiting for the day where Luke forces me to fight back, or to run. If I can help it, I try not to engage with whoever I'm staying with because that shit goes into your file. And I like to keep my options open if the next placement is worse than the last. Last thing I need is to be put down as a runner or a fighter and then get stuck with someone with bars on their windows or uses a weapon instead of their fists. Besides, generally Luke wasn't that bad. This would probably be the last big fight we got in before he gets back together with his girlfriend, and then life will be good for a few weeks. Hell, even dealing with the shit I deal with, it's still one of the better placements I've had. It's not like someone beating on me is anything new. And with Luke, I know that he will have the fight out of him in 10 or 15 minutes, when he passes out drunk. It's just making sure I survive until then.

Accepting my fate, I get up out of bed and make sure that anything that he might decide is a weapon is out of reach. Just in time, Luke comes barging into my room, yelling incoherent ramblings. His gaze fixates on me momentarily, the glassy look masking his penetrating green eyes. It is obvious that he doesn't see me. He sees whoever pissed him off last.

"I'll fucking teach you, you son of a bitch," he screams in my face, words being slurred together, as he shoves me, knocking me into my dresser. I am able to brace my impact with my hands, but it leaves me completely defenseless for the next blow to follow. His right hand reaches over to grab my left shoulder, pushing me onto the adjacent wall. "Not so tough now, are ya?" He asks, moving into a close enough proximity to me that I can feel the spit coming from his mouth as he speaks. He suddenly has his body weight pushed against me, and I stand tense, unable to retreat from the corner I am pressed up against. His hands grab my shoulders, hard, as he begins shaking me as he's talking. "You thought you could just pull that shit and not pay for it?"

"No, I'm sorry, please I won't do it again," I beg, not knowing what he is accusing me of. I know that playing along is the only way to get through this experience. Just play along, be apologetic, and hope that he doesn't push it too far this time. His grip isn't relenting, and I start struggling against his hold because it really fucking hurts this time. This is usually where it ends, he'll just accept the apology and leave and go pass out, but he won't let go. He's putting all of his strength holding onto me, the heavy lifting he does on his job assisting in his endeavors. Doesn't help that he has 6 inches on me easily. My struggling only seems to make him angrier, but I can't help but try to find a way out.

"You were so cocky back there, what happened to it? Someone gets the upper hand and now you want mercy? Where was that when you took those cheap shots at me? Oh no, you're not getting out of this so easily," he taunts as he pulls my shoulders down and knees me in the stomach. As the air is knocked out of my system, I barely register the blow to my mouth before I'm forced to the ground. I can't get up, I can't breathe, he just starts kicking my stomach while I lay there defenseless, curling into a ball with my hands over my head for protection.

"Please, stop, I can't, I'm sorry, please," I beg, crying out from the pain and the fear. His blows seem unrelenting, until he finally gives one last strong kick and then ends his reign of terror.

"That'll teach you to mess with me," he taunts, as he makes his way out of the room and drunkenly stumbles to his room, where he will pass out until morning, claiming that he doesn't remember a thing. I just keep grasping my body, trying to hold it together while also trying to regain my breath and strength. After a few minutes of gasping, the air finally is coursing through my body again, and I am able to sit up. I do a quick check to make sure that nothing is broken, and consider myself lucky that nothing is considering all that just happened. There's blood coming from my mouth, but no loose teeth. I just sat, leaning against my bed for a while, and then eventually lifted myself the two feet to actually get into it. The bleeding had stopped and I couldn't be bothered to walk to check the damages in the mirror. I look at the clock before passing out, noticing that it's now nearly 1 am. It's my dad's birthday. The memories of his birthdays in the past the only thing calming me enough to allow me to drift off to sleep.


	4. Andy's Birthday

(A/N: I know, this chapter's been a long time coming. Thanks for bearing with me. I've also been struggling with whether I want the story in first or third person, so I apologize in advance for the inconsistencies)

I don't know where I am. Everything's moving to fast for me to understand. There's blurs of things here and there. Voices. I'm in a house. A really shitty house. There's childish laughter coming from upstairs. It sounds familiar. It's Ben's. I race upstairs and slam open the bedroom door, but there's no one inside. There's toys scattered all across the room. "Ben?" I call out, uncertain on if he is just messing with me. It would be just like him to play a prank on me, he's done it plenty of times before. But for some reason I don't think that it's the case this time. "Ben, where are you? This isn't funny. Just come out." I hear the door open. Maybe he's just home late from school or something. The younger grades do get out later. That must be it.

"Griffin, where's your brother?" Calls my mom up from downstairs.

"I…I don't know. I can't find him", I answer back, as I shakily make my way down the stairs.

"What do you mean you can't find him. You were supposed to be watching him! You were supposed to take care of him!" All of the kindness has left her face, as she yells and berates me. "This is your fault. If something happens it is your fault," she yells, grabbing my shoulders and slamming my body into the kitchen counter. I scream from the pain in my hip. I hear sirens.

Why is mom doing this to me? "I asked you to take care of your mom and brother," says Casey as he walks into the room, surveying the scene in front of him. "That's the only thing I've ever asked of you, that's the last thing I've ever said to you. I don't think that's too much to ask for. You deserve everything that happens to you. You failed me. You failed your dad. You failed your brother," says Casey, as he continues berating me and egging my mom on.

"No, no, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," I cry as they both continue to yell and berate me. The sirens get closer. They stop outside of the door.

"Police, open up!" They command, standing outside of the door. My mom continues to yell. I scream for help. All I hear is a loud bang, as someone barges the door open, and…

I jolt out of bed, in a cold sweat. I immediately regret it and lay back down, my head pounding from what happened last night. It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare. It's not happening, I remind myself, as I glance over to look at the clock. It's quarter to four. I am definitely not going to school today. I try to roll onto my side, but my ribs cause me to yelp and give up on that endeavor. I stare up at the ceiling, the moonlight casting shadows that swirl as the wind blows on the leaves. As I fade off into another hazy sleep, I remember what day it is. It's my dad's birthday.

888

I wake up with a pounding headache, which is not helped one bit by Luke slamming his truck door after he gets in. I lay in bed with my eyes closed until I hear his truck fading off into the distance, and I spend a few moments listening to the silence of the house. I turn my head and see that it's a little past noon on my alarm clock. As I try to get up, the memories of last night come flooding back in. I feel my mouth, and the swelling of my lip has gone down, but it was split open pretty good. Breathing too deeply or moving too much causes my stomach to hurt. I slowly get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to check out the damage. As I stare at my face in the mirror, I start to wonder how it got to be this way. How this became my life. But there's no use thinking about it, it's just how it is. Most of the damage from last night won't be noticeable. My stomach bruises will be covered by my shirt, I'll just have to make sure that the shirt sleeves come down long enough to hide where Luke grabbed me. There's not much I can do about the split lip; I'll just have to come up with a cover. I chuckle to myself thinking about what ridiculous thing I'll come up with this time.

I turn the shower on so that the temperature is just below lukewarm. I'm definitely not ready to take a hot shower in this condition. After making myself look more presentable, I head downstairs and start ravaging through the cupboards to look for something to eat. I find a can of SpaghettiOs in the back behind a 6-pack of Bud Light. I turn on the TV while the soup is in the microwave. The News Anchor is reporting about education reform in Chicago Public Schools and some of the new policies they've adopted to lower unexcused absences, which I can't help but scoff at. I practically inhale my soup, and then sit there contemplating where I was going to go for my dad's birthday. Normally I would go to the cemetery, but it was too far to walk from here. After a while, I remembered that my dad's badge was hung inside the Robert J. Quinn Fire Academy on the wall of badges memorial. I figure that's as good of place as any to see my dad. I put on a thick hoodie, and start walking over there.

888

"Did you see how many cans of green beans the woman in front of us in the checkout line had? I really want to know what one person does with that many can of green beans," I said with a grin across my face as I hand Dawson the groceries to put into the car.

"You're just jealous that she is probably making one hell of a good green bean casserole, and you aren't going to get any of it," teased Dawson, shutting the door after the last bag was in. The drive home was relatively uneventful. Well, as uneventful as driving in Chicago can be. Dawson started making lunch while I unloaded the car. It was quite nice to be on the same work schedule, getting to spend our off days with each other. "Lunch is ready when you are," Dawson yelled out. She had opted to make tuna salad sandwiches, which meant that she finished just as I had gotten comfortable on the couch.

"Do you purposefully time things so that I have to get up whenever I sit down?" I gave Dawson a quick peck, and sat down with her at the table to eat our sandwiches.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day? I have a couple of errands to run, if you want to tag along," offered Dawson.

"I was thinking about heading down to the Academy for a little bit. Catch up with some buddies of mine," I replied. I stared out the window, following a sparrow as it flew from branch to branch.

"Does this have anything to do with what day it is?" Dawson asked, noticing how distant her husband had become.

"I don't know. I guess so. I know it's been so long, but it feels like Andy's just going to walk back in the door, and ask about what happened to his free birthday drink. After his death, it was okay for a while because I still saw Heather and the kids, but after they moved, I guess I just lost touch with them. And then it felt like I lost Andy again, ya know?"

"I get it Matt. I think it'd be good to go down to the Academy. If it's where you feel you need to be, then that's where you should go."

I continued staring out the window for a few moments longer, and we sat in relative silence, with only the sounds of our chewing filling the air. "I'll be back soon," I uttered as I got up and put my dishes into the sink.

Dawson looked at her husband with concern at all the emotions he was feeling that he wasn't sharing with her. But she knew that now was not the time to pry, Casey would talk when he was ready. He always was someone who handled grief in a very muted way. If he would just acknowledge these feelings the first time around, instead of bottling them up, he wouldn't have to deal with them again and again every time something comes up, Gabby thought. But what could she do? This was something that Casey had to do for himself. "I'll probably be gone when you get back, but I'd love to hear about how everything went tonight, okay?"

"Will do," I replied. I kissed my wife on the cheek, and grabbed my jacket as I made my way out of the door. I drove down to the academy, with the radio turned up to try and drown out my own thoughts.

888

Griff stopped on the corner outside of the Academy to scope the place out. He hadn't been back here in years, and needed to make sure that he was in control of this situation. He didn't want to see anyone, everyone here was from a past life of his. One he didn't belong to anymore. There was no movement inside the building, and after about 10 minutes, Griff walked up to the front door and made his way inside. The building was exactly the way he remembered it. Wide hallways, and the hundreds of badges lining the wall. He made his way down to the far end of the hallway, where his dad's badge would be. He noticed how many more had been added in the years since his dad had died. How many other kids lost one of their parents. He finally settled on his dad's badge. "Hey dad," Griff said, as he raised one hand to the glass, and the other held the dog tags he kept in his pocket.

888

Casey pulled up to the back of the building. After turning his engine off, he texted one of his buddies that he knew was leading a course and let him know that he was here visiting, and that he would stop by before he left. As he made his way into the entrance he noticed that someone was standing in the hallway with his hand on the glass covering the badges. The figure was wearing a hoodie, so Casey couldn't see who it was. They looked too thin to be someone else who was on Truck back when Andy was, but Casey couldn't think of who else would come here at this time of day. And although the doors were not locked during the day, most members of the public didn't even know the memorial was here, let alone visited it. Curiosity sank in, and Casey started making his way towards the figure. He had crossed about half of the distance, when the person turned and looked at him, for just a moment, dropped his hand, and then turned away and started walking towards the other entrance. "Hey, wait up! I wanted to ask you something!" Casey called out, increasing his pace to catch up with whoever it was standing at the glass.

888

"I've missed you, dad. I'm doing what you said to do, I'm being brave. I just wish you were here, and Ben was, and we could have a birthday party like we used to." I fell into silence, lost in the thoughts inside of my head. Suddenly, I heard the back door open. Just stand still, maybe they won't come this way, I thought to myself. When it became clear that the person was coming down the hall towards me, I decided to risk a glance. I just looked for a second, but the face was unmistakable. It was Casey. I dropped his hand and started walking away. _Just play it cool. He won't recognize you. It's been too long. Wait til he leaves and then get out of here, it'll be like this never happened._

"Hey, wait up! I wanted to ask you something!" Casey called out. Casey increased his pace, and I started to panic. I made one more quick look back, saw the distance between us closing, and did the only thing I could think of doing. I ran. It took Casey a second to catch on, and by that point I already had a considerable head start. I ran out the doors, dropping the dog tags when my hands forcibly pushed the doors out of the way. I considered stopping when I heard them hit the ground but if I did then I would surely have been caught. I just hoped that Casey hadn't noticed. I ran out and around the building, hiding behind the dumpster on the side. I tried to slow my breathing as much as possible, and sat there for about 15 minutes until I knew for sure that Casey had given up and left. As I cautiously rounded the corner, I checked where I knew that I dropped my dad's tags, but they were gone. _What am I going to do now?_ I wondered, as I slowly made my way back home.

888

Suddenly, the figure broke into a sprint and barged out of the doorways before Casey even knew what was happening. _Why is this kid trying to run from me?_ Casey wondered as he ran to try and catch up. By the time he got outside, the figure was nowhere in sight. He looked around for a minute, and then decided it wasn't worth trying to find them. _Strange_ , Casey thought. As he was walking back in, he stepped on something inside the double doors. He looked down, and found a set of dog tags. He picked them up, and started to inspect them. The first one had the firefighter's prayer, which was standard. _Okay, so they did have some connection to the building. But still, why would they run?_ He went to look at the other tag, and he nearly dropped them when he read what it said. "Andrew Darden, Firefighter, Chicago Fire Department". _How? Who would have had these? Who took Andy's dog tags after the funeral?_ Casey racked his brain, searching for the answer that he knew had to be there.

"Griffin." He stated, remembering how the young boy had always been fascinated by his dad's dog tag. How had he not recognized the boy? It had been what, 4 or 5 years since he had last seen the boy? He had to be 14 or 15 by now. _Why did he run?_ Casey wondered, as he put the dog tags in his pocket and made his way back down the hall.


	5. Scouting 51

I couldn't believe that I lost my dad's dog tags. All I had from him were those and his jacket. I needed to get them back from Casey. But how? I haven't seen Casey in years, not since we moved down to Florida. He kept in touch for a little while, but after a couple of months the phone calls stopped. Mom said that Casey had found someone else that he was interested in, that he only liked us because he liked Mom. But now that he had a new girlfriend, he didn't need to deal with us anymore. I thought she was lying. But then when we moved back to Chicago, we still didn't see him. I called him, but it always said the number was disconnected. After a while, I just stopped calling.

I looked at my watch, and it was only 2pm. I decided to walk down to the South Branch of the Chicago River and try to collect my thoughts and figure out what I was going to do. It didn't take me as long to walk there as normal, since it was kind of on my way back home. I stopped and sat by the water, and watched the water flow calmly downstream. There weren't many people walking around today, which I couldn't tell if it was due to the time or the fact that a cold front was blowing through and it was supposed to bring a storm with it.

I needed to compartmentalize my thoughts so that I could think logically. Emotions never helped anything. I kept replaying what happened earlier, and couldn't figure out where I went wrong. I don't think Casey recognized me, so why was he so hell bent on stopping me? I didn't wear my dad's jacket, I was only there for a few minutes, what did I do that caused him to focus on me? Eventually I realized that micro analyzing the situation wasn't going to fix anything. I just needed to figure out what I was going to do to fix the situation. There wasn't a use doing anything now, I had to wait until my lip healed a little more. Last thing I need is those types of questions when I find Casey. If I saw Casey at the Academy, it means that he probably was still a firefighter, I assume at 51. I don't know why he would transfer.

I went back to staring at the river. After a few minutes, I made up my mind. I would stake out 51 after school and see what day Casey worked. Then, after my lip was mostly healed, I would have to walk in there and ask for my dog tags back. At least I knew that they were safe with Casey. But damn, this situation sucks. I made my way back home, hoping that I would suddenly come up with another way to get my dog tags back. But by the time I got back home, I knew that this was the only way.

888

"Gabby, I'm home," Casey yelled, as he took off his coat and put it on the rack. He heard no reply and figured that she must still be out running her errands. He looked at the clock and realized it was only three and started brewing a cup of coffee to get himself through the rest of the day. After getting the coffee maker all set-up, he goes upstairs to his bedroom and begins rummaging through some drawers. On the third try, he finds what he was looking for: the GI Joe that Ben gave him the last time he saw the boys in person. He grabs the toy and heads back downstairs, finding his coffee has finished brewing. He pours himself a cup and sits down at the table and stares out of the window for a few minutes, contemplating why Griffin would be back in town, and why Heather wouldn't have called him if they were visiting. Unknowingly, he found himself reaching into his pocket and grabbing Andy's dog tags.

"Hey," Dawson says, putting her hand on Casey's right shoulder. Casey visibly jumps and is awoken from his daydreaming.

"Sorry, didn't hear you come in," replies Casey. "How did your errands go?"

"They were good, picked up some food for the rest of the week, found a dress on clearance leftover from the summer selection. I'll have to wait until next year to wear it, but the deal was too good to resist. Why do you have Ben's GI Joe out?" Asked Dawson, and she poured herself a cup of coffee, added some cream and sugar, and sat down across from Casey.

"I think I saw Griffin today, at the fire academy. I can't think of who else it would be. Whoever it was, they dropped these." Casey took Andy's dog tags out of his pocket and slid them across the table towards Dawson.

"Why wouldn't Heather called to say that they were all in town? Have you tried calling her?"

"I haven't called in a few years. The last time I tried the number was disconnected. I'm sure I still have it saved, I guess it wouldn't hurt to try again." Casey scrolled through his contacts, finally reaching Heather Darden. He put the phone up to his ear, just to hear the same beeping noise he had heard a few years earlier. "Still nothing. She must have changed phone numbers or something."

"Wait, what did you mean when you said you think it was Griffin?" Dawson looked at Casey curiously, wondering how much of the story she was missing. "Can you walk me through what happened?"

"I had just gotten to the Academy, and I was going down the hall when I noticed someone was standing right where Darden's badge is. I went down the hall and the person turned and started walking away. I thought the situation was weird, so I called out for them to hold up. They broke into a dead sprint, and by the time I made it outside they were gone. I found these dog tags on the way back in. If I wouldn't have found them, I probably wouldn't of realized who it was. But Griffin was the most protective of these dog tags, and I can't imagine he would have let them go to anyone else. I just don't know why he would run. I keep going over it in my head, and I don't understand," said Casey, obviously frustrated that he didn't understand what had happened.

"Well, if it was Griffin, he is going to come back for those dog tags. He knows where 51 is, he'll come around. You can ask him then," Dawson replied, looking empathetically at her husband.

"Yeah, Gabby, you're right. There's no use worrying about it. Worse comes to worse, I'm sure I can look them up online or something." There was a moment of quiet pause as Casey finished collecting his thoughts, and Dawson continued to watch her husband. "So, what'd you buy for dinner? Anything good?" Casey teased, changing the subject.

"They had the most beautiful pork loin on sale, and I was figuring you could come up with something to do with it," Dawson replied, happy that Casey seemed to be in a better mood than he had all day.

"I got an idea or two," Casey light-heartedly stated, as he got up and began to work on dinner.

888

Griff's lip was healing up nicely, much faster than he had expected. He had laid low for a few days, caught himself up on a few school assignments so the teachers would get off his back and mostly avoided Luke. As predicted, Luke got back together with Melinda, so now the cupboards were stocked with food, his drinking had drastically reduced, and overall Griff's quality of living had improved. Griff enjoyed the calm, especially after what had happened last week. Luke was trying to make it up, keeping some junk food stocked, letting Griff have control of the TV most nights, staying over at Melinda's place over the weekend. While it didn't do much for forgiveness, it did make the tension between the two decrease.

Starting on Monday, Griff had been spending about an hour scoping out Firehouse 51 instead of going down to the river. He was looking for signs of Casey, or anyone that used to work with Casey. He knew from his Dad that once people found a shift they liked, they would do anything to keep on it. So, he figured that even though it had been a few years, the shift that Casey worked likely kept most of the same guys. Monday, Griff waited, but he didn't recognize anyone he saw going in or out. Same with Tuesday. By process of elimination, that meant Casey had to be on Wednesday's shift, but Griff wanted to be sure. Wednesday after school, he only had to be out there for 10 minutes before knowing that it was Casey's shift. At first, he just saw Capp and Severide sitting outside, smoking a cigar. Once Casey came out to join them, Griff gathered his stuff and began to walk home. If it was Wednesday, that meant that Saturday would be there next shift. Saturday, Griff would get the tags back.

888

Casey was sitting in the kitchen of Firehouse 51, talking to Otis while Mouch continually hushed them because he was "watching TV".

"Mouch, how can you watch TV with your eyes shut?" Asked Otis, laughing at how funny he perceived himself to be.

"I'm meditating. Besides, they're commercials anyways. Now leave me alone before I open my eyes and come find you," grouchily replied Mouch, playfully upset at his nap being interrupted.

"Otis, leave him alone," chuckled Casey. "But seriously," Casey said, moving back to previous conversation, "why would Griffin run when he saw me. He had to have recognized me, or my voice, or something?"

"Casey, I don't know. All I can do is speculate. Maybe the kid was scared, he's what, like fifteen now? He hasn't seen any of us in god knows how long, and maybe he just didn't want to bring up old memories. I'm sure you'll get to ask him, though, there's been rumors of some kid watching the firehouse all week. Griffin's a smart kid, he knows you're here, and he's going to make contact. You just have to let him come to you."

"Otis, when did you get smart on us? I would expect Hermann to say something like that, but not you. But yeah, you're right. Wait, who'd you hear this rumor from," questioned Casey.

"Oh, it's been going around. I don't think anyone wanted to tell you. Didn't want to get your hopes up, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"But Severide and Capp are out there now, I told them to text you if they saw the kid come back. Figure you would be able to recognize him from far away, since apparently that's as close as you can get," teased Otis.

"Good one Otis. But I appreciate it." Casey's phone buzzed, and he looked at the incoming text.

"Speak of the devil?" Otis questioned.

"And the devil shall appear. Kid's back. I'll go check it out."

"Good luck Casey, and remember, let him come to you. That advice works in lots of situations too, pets, women, you know."

"I'll try to remember that, Otis," Casey replied, rolling his eyes. He made his way at a normal pace, careful that he wouldn't spook whoever was watching them. "Hey Severide, what's up? Got an extra cigar?" Casey asked. When Severide reached into his pocket to grab one, Casey turned his back away from the firehouse. "Where's the kid?" Casey whispered, careful to seem natural.

"Seven o'clock. Only been here for a few minutes. Can't really tell much about him, he's too far away. He's over by the bus stop." Severide replied, lighting Casey's cigar.

Casey turned, and glanced over to where Severide had mentioned. He saw the outlines of a figure, looking very similar to the one he saw last week. "That's him, it has to be." The figure turned and started walking away.

"Must have gotten all he needed," stated Severide.

"Yeah, he must have." The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the figure disappear from their sight. "I guess all we do now is wait." Capp and Severide resumed the conversation they previously were having, and Casey jumped in. From the outside, it seemed as if the visitor was forgotten. But Casey never stopped thinking about Griffin, and the encounter that he knew was bound to happen.

 **A/N: Reviews? Thanks!**


End file.
